Mark Yashaev

Everything in our lives becomes broken or gets lost. To photograph is to squeeze fleeting moments from the clutter of life into a square frame. There is no sound or smell, just a simple picture. The moment is gone, but like a dried leaf, it still exists. In Sylvia Plachy's book, Flesh and Blood, she describes photographing one's family, "It is a sign: you and they have been somewhere together." Since I read this quote, these words have stuck with me. 

I was born in Azerbaijan, part of the former USSR. When I was nine years old, my family and I immigrated to Israel. I have always believed that we are born twice, the first time is our physical birth; the second time, our spiritual birth, wich occurs after a significant struggle. It is from this second "birth" that I began photographing. I decided to photograph my family because I knew them well and could say things about them that others could not.

Living with my parents for 26 years allowed me to become familiar with my families nuances and intimate landscapes that others would not notice. As I started photographing, I began peeling off the layers and removing the glory from my heroes. In one specific photograph, my father is lying on our living room couch, with his mouth open and a blanket wrapped around him resembling a dead man. When I saw my father, the hero of my childhood, so vulnerable, I realized my work was serving as a farewell to my youth. It was as if I were creating a memoir through images. While photographing this series, sometimes it felt surreal and other times so real; it became painful to know that those moments I was capturing were fleeting.

Photographing the intimacy between my parents, took me inside of my family. Feelings of love, longing, disappointment, and joy within my family's relationship are captured within these photographs, creating a type family album.